One Morning

A poem where a line is blurred.

The rustle of a newspaper

Crisp

Unanticipated upon waking,
No -
Perhaps?

At the same time, almost too familiar
The scent of fresh coffee
Lustrous, with a hint of
Chocolate
(I imagine, dreamlike, the hand which collected the fruit
Proud and weary)

Yet something, something
catches my attention
In awkward angles

By the grinding of my teeth
I forget why, but I cannot breathe
-
-
-
I live alone.